Under Death's Shadow
by Warcraftter7
Summary: See what has become of Northrend after the fall of Arthas, through the eyes of an undead named Athese. Under the rule of Bolvar Fordragon, the Scourge as a united entity is no more, and the undead are left to their own devices in a now lawless land of death and shadow.
1. Chapter 1

_Snow._ That's what it had been called. The word came back to what was left of Aethes' mind seemingly out of the blue. He realized now it was all around him, falling endlessly to collect on the frozen ground. _Cold._ Another word he recalled, as it must have felt around him with all the snow that was falling, though he could not feel it. His sense of feeling had gone with his flesh and his mind so long ago. It felt as though he was seeing the world in earnest for the first time, and he felt… different.

From where he stood the world was dark, he stood upon a glacier over-looking the frozen valleys of sacred Icecrown, though he could not see far, the darkness that was the atmosphere of the top of the world blocked much of his vision, and the snow. The snow, it brought back something to him, memories; feelings perhaps? Aethes could not tell, but it reoccurred to him that this sensation had been happening for a few days, or was it weeks? The blind rage that once consumed him seemed to be leaving his body and a new strange feeling was replacing it.

Around him stood his brothers in arms, a gruesome group they were. There armor was of a hundred armies, scavenged mail, dented plate, rotting boiled leather, rotting… just like their skin. Flesh still clung to some of their bones, but most were simply skeleton covered by their aged armor. For those who wore breastplates beaten enough to see through, Aethes could recognize the eerie glow that always radiated from the center of his brothers, though there was something strange about the glow now. Had it changed? _Blue._ Yes, it had been a color, the same as the ice and rock around him, sad and lifeless… but now, it was different. The undead meandered around the top of the glacier, glancing out from time to time to the valley below. Aethes could see it now. The light that shone from their chests, eyes, mouths, it was… a fiery orange, a red. But what did that matter? Why did this catch his eye?

As if by instinct Aethes turned to one of the undead nearby, some power of recognition drew him to the lichling. The being was tall, slender and skeletal like all the rest. He wore the tattered robes of a mage, ragged after years of ware, all seemingly held together by chains coiled around his thin figure. The illumination from this one was much greater than the rest of his brothers, and the color of fire. The lichling's mouth opened.

"You sense it too do you not, faithful one?" the voice echoed in Aethes head.

"I feel… different, the voice, its gone." Aethes did not recall hearing his own chilling voice for quite some time.

"Not gone, not completely, no. I still sense him there. Do you recall what we were sent to do?"

Aethes could hardly remember anything, but at the same time he remembered everything. What was happening to him? Was he finally drifting into mindlessness, the only death his kind could look forward too? Perhaps not, the captain, the lichling, would know.

"My thoughts are my own, but they seem to betray me, I cannot recall what we were sent out to do."

It was impossible for an undead to smile, but the red, orange energy that swirled around the lichling distorted his face and a grin like shadow crept across his skull.

"Then welcome to your new… unlife." The lichling turned to the group of undead standing about the glacier.

"Brothers! What was it the Lich King commanded us to take?" Most of the skeletons standing there simply looked back at the lichling, it was obvious they were in the same state as Aethes, however, a few of his comrades raised their grisly weapons.

"Death to the Knights of the Ebon Blade!" The call came up from the few who knew the answer, and the lichlings smile persisted.

"As foolish in freedom as they were in chains. Aethes, kill them." The lichling commanded.

_Kill_. The word made the old rage within Aethes boil up again, but his rotted hands did not move to the sword resting at his hip bones. _I am in control_. He stared at the lichling for a moment, studying him. The delay to follow orders seemed not to bother the specter. Aethes realized what was happening, in that moment.

His hand flew to the hilt of his sword and he ripped the rusted metal from his scabbard. As he did he noted those who had not taken up the call earlier did the same, and for a moment the glacier fell into a song of singing steel. Aethes rushed at the nearest skeleton, sword still raised above his skull, cutting across his once brothers elbow he separated the weapon from his foe. He kick out with his iron boot and heard a crunch as he smashed the skeletons rib cage, the fire within it flickering all along. As his opponent began to crumble to the ground Aethes pressed the attack, leaping with his sword raised high above his head. He brought down the blade on the skull and split it in two. The broken bones fell to the ground with the rest of the once whole skeleton and the fire died away from its heart.

Aethes glared around, the poor undead who had shouted their cry were being viciously beaten to dust by their once brothers-in-arms. Nearby, one of the largest skeletons within the company held one of the defectors in his massive claws, shaking him so violently armor and bone alike were thrown across the glacier, until the fires of undeath died away from the skeleton. There was no need to find another opponent, and the only undead left standing had taken part in the slaughter of the few.

In the beginning there had to be some fifty of them, and four broken bodies lay on the ground, slowly being consumed by the falling snows. There had never been any feelings in Aethes, and certainly not after battle, but for the first time Aethes had a sense of them. It was not remorse, no. It was accomplishment, pride, _victory_. The lichling, _Yjarim, that was his name_, had said the command, but Aethes had carried it out; by his own will, his own free will.

"You see they were useless." Yjarim said to him, and the surviving undead.

"They had yet to adjust to the change in the winds, and there is work to be done that they would impede."

Aethes was unsure of what he meant exactly, but he knew he was right, the time of change had come and he was a new undead.

"And where are we to go, Unhallowed one?" Aethes asked of the lichling.

"To the friends of death and living servants of the Lich King, to Ymirheim."


	2. Chapter 2

Athese could recall any specific memories; more like knowledge just came to him by instinct. When Yjarim had made the command to move out to Ymirheim he had known the way that him and his brothers would have to take, how he knew he could not say, but he supposed he had been that way before. Something told him that this march had been unlike any other he had been in before. Marching with the undead had been a solemn thing; the dead were not much for talking especially the mindless servants of the King. It was different now; his comrades had shared much conversation as they made their way to the valley floor of Icecrown. Some had even voiced their concern on making the march to Ymirheim.

"The living has no help to give the dead." The large skeleton from the battle on the glacier had said. He had taken a number of their party with him while they worked their way down the glacier, off to find one of Arthas' legendary Death Knights, for their council. Others had headed off to find solace from the pang in what was left in their stomachs. _Hunger_. Something had told him, he knew they were off to find what flesh they could to appease their awakened appetites. Yjarim had said that this was a product of whatever change was occurring, and that they might all soon need to find something to fill their bellies, or what was left of them.

Athese had spent much time talking to the lichling, he was more knowledgeable then the others, it made Athese feel more comfortable with the recent strangeness and change speaking to him.

Yjarim had voiced no objections to those not willing to stay on their quest to find the Vrykul. He was unconcerned with the strength of their party, he feared no opposition, not this deep in Icecrown, the only large attacks they had faced were from those damnable flying ships the living had brought in, but there had been no sign of them for some time. In a way Athese appreciated the smaller numbers, it was easier and faster now for their group of fifteen or so to march than it had been when they travelled with near fifty.

"As long as they are not seeking those wretched traitors, their will is their own." Yjarim had said of the deserters. The traitors he had referred to were of course the Knights of the Ebon Blade, the Death Knights that had defied the will of their rightful king. Athese and his companions spent much of the time they could remember fighting those Death Knights and their minions. It was bad enough that they had befouled their Unholy Order with treason, but on top of that they had the nerve to stand alongside the living, the Horde and the Alliance.

It had taken some of Yjarim's stories to help Athese recollect those two enemies, but as they had made their way to the valley floor Athese' own memory was helped by the arms and armor that littered the ground. The path that had taken them down had been covered by broken skeletons, long decayed corpses and fresh ones alike. Athese could pick out the ancient armor of his fallen comrades, but the fresh ones had belong to his enemies. He could pick out golden lions painted upon silver shields, stars, birds, faces, symbols he could not recognizes on fields of red, all marking the allegiance of the fallen who tried to oppose death's onslaught. It was in that pass that Athese found himself a new ax, its fine steel and jagged edge had caught his sight, and it felt right and balanced clutched in his boney fingers. With the one handed ax he also took a wooden shield whose own device he clawed off.

With the company freshly armored they had continued down the pass, and reached the floor of Icecrown. It was covered with the bones of the long dead, but not even carrion crows flew over the field, here, death ruled and all living feared to tread. Yjarim had told him that not even those that had invaded Northrend would walk these paths, bringing in their flying ships instead. That memory had escaped Athese, but he was thankful for the lichlings knowledge. They had made their way south by southwest until they found Aldur'Thar then continued along the Desolation Gate. The name fit well now, the once proud gate was torn down to ruins, its saronite steel ramparts littering the ground. Its tall spiked towers were dulled and crumbling, the watch fires that had once burned where extinguished and the Scourge banners that had once flown were torn and tattered. Athese could not recall when that had happened but his memory was still something he couldn't trust, it wouldn't have surprised him if he had even been at the battle ending in the Gate's destruction.

It had been a day's march across the valley floor when they reached the base of the mountains surrounding Ymirheim. At the beginning of the second day they were heading southeast, by the base of the mountain range. The mountains themselves were dark and jagged, much steeper than any of them cared to walk, and the ice and snow covering them made them treacherous on the feet, even an undead could lose its footing and be shattered to pieces on the rocks. Thus, the range had protected Ymirheim for centuries; funneling all would be intruders or visitors toward the village entrance, north of Mord'Rethar. The company turned round one of the bends of hills and Athese could see what looked like smoke, billowing up from behind a small ridge. Yjarim was unconcerned.

"A camp this close to Ymirheim is not like to be sheltering any living, sides Vrykul, and what use does the dead have for fires?"

As they made their approach towards the camp they could see no sigils, but small shelters had been erected using what looked like the tatter rages of banners taken from Aldur'Thar stretched across bones erected as posts. The fire was built in a kettle, no doubt from the Gate as well, and was being used to cook some sort of flesh upon a spit. Athese was surprised to see the camp was manned by a handful of undead, wearing the same unrecognizable and beaten armor as Athese' own brothers. Then he caught a scent of what was cooking.

Somewhere deep down inside Athese he felt a sort of painful sensation, combined with a feeling of emptiness right down below his rib cage. He turned to the lichling he walked beside.

"Do you smell what they are cooking Yjarim?" He asked.

Yjarim nodded.

"I take it that the Hunger has set upon you, now doubt I will feel it soon, as well as the rest of us, if it hasn't taken some already."

"Aye your Unholiness, mayhaps they have food to share." Athese noted a skeleton baring a full helm with dented plate and cloak as black as night say.

They were all in agreement, and made their way towards the fire and Yjarim called out to the undead resting at the camp.

"Brothers, we march to Ymirheim, might he share the fire for a moment?"

The undead turned to look upon their visitors. Their hands slowly fell to the hilts of their weapons but they didn't draw. The largest skeleton there was bulky, and rotting green flesh still hung from his bones. A large steel plate guarded his one shoulder, and below his eye sockets that glowed a fiery orange, his jaw line jutted out reveling huge tusks reaching half way up his skull.

"You use your voice, and have undoubtedly felt the change, tell me, who is it you serve?" The large skeleton asked.

Yjarim paused for a moment.

"Why, the Lich King."

The response was a gruntish laugh, and they were beckoned over.

"Come share Regax's fire with my friends then."

The closer they got to the fire the more Athese' could smell what was cooking, had he had saliva glands he was sure his mouth would be watering, though the meat looked less than appetizing. It was clearly pulled from something long dead, rotting and covered with holes eaten away by time or insects. It was when they reached the camp that Athese noted the fresh broken bodies that lay around the camp. Their spines were snapped and bones not held together by flesh scattered. The corpses had long claws at the end of their hands, and teeth like razors lining their jaw lines, wisps of hair dotted the tops of their skulls, all clothing had long decayed away. _Ghouls no doubt._ Athese' thought to himself.

Yjarim ignored the corpses.

"Might I ask who you travel with Regax?" the lichling asked of the one who had called them over. Regax gestured towards the three that stood around the fire.

The first was tall and slender, like any undead, he wore a half helm with mail on his head and various mismatched plate upon his body, Regax told them that Samm was what they called that one. The other two were short stout things, with much of their flesh still upon their bodies. Long white beards reached all the way down their torsos and they were covered with mail and plate each barring two axes. Thorhad and Hadthor were their names.

"Theres not enough food right now cooking if the Hungers set upon you all, but feel free to dig in on what we have not touched yet." Regax pointed to the broken bodies of the ghouls on the ground.

"What happened to them?" Athese asked the big skeleton, it was clear now that the beast was at least a head or two taller than Athese himself, Regax had to look down upon Athese to respond.

"We were travelling to Ymirheim when the Voice started to fade, and it seemed the less we heard of the voice the more ornery these little buggers got. Finally one day they went completely mad, killed half the undead we were travelling with."

"Aye." Added the one named Samm.

"Seemed to me once the Voice stopped asking of us the ghouls lost their minds, few stayed sane for a while but it was only a matter of time. We marched our way here with the ones who were still in control but we weren't going to bring them to the Vrykul."

"So we butchered them, and that was when the Hunger came on us." Finished Regax.

"And the fires?" Yjarim asked of them. They were silent for a moment, simply looking into the flames.

"Can't say why, just wanted it." Hodthar finally said.

"And there's no harm in putting some warm meat in our bellies."

"For those who still have bellies." Regax growled. He bit off a piece of flesh from the meat he held, he chewed it and it fell upon his rib caged then on to the ground, though it looked as though the journey had seared it more than the fire. Athese moved over to one of the corpses on the ground and tore off some flesh with his comrades. The meat travelled in a similar way to Regax's when he bit into it. Travelling through Athese jaw onto his rib cage, his breastplate held it in for a time, but it simply slid through his hip bone and on to the ground. Surprisingly, it seemed to have an effect on Athese' hunger.

They stayed for a while eating until they could not anymore, even Yjarim had a few bites. But after a while the lichling suggested they moved on to Ymirhiem, their new found companions journeyed with them. It took them until Moon's rising to reach the slope that lead up to Ymirhiem's gates, or what was left of them. The wooden dragons that had once been carved into the posts were cut down and burned, the short wall had tumbled down and the gate itself had been broken down. As they made their way up the hill Athese could see that there were undead out and about making repairs on the gate, he even spied a few Vrykul.

It was half way up the slope when they heard the war horn.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOO.

Those working on the gate threw down their tools and pulled out various weapons. More poured out from behind the gates forming a wall of flesh and bone in front. A few bowmen poked their skulls over the hills that formed up on the sides of the pathway. Athese turned to see if there was any way to head back down the hill, his clawed hand clutching the hilt of his ax. He could hear the sound of clattering bone and steel he heard from behind him.

"It appears we have been spotted." Yjarim said as they watched more skeletons form up a similar wall behind them. Regax grunted. No one raised any weapons.

"Good brothers" Yjarim started.

"We come in peace."

"Do you now?" Athese heard a chilling voice say. He turned back toward the gate and saw a being making its way through the skeletal wall in front of them. It rode upon a massive horse of bone. Eyes glowing red as fire, covered with beaten plate and mail with torn flesh and cloth concealing most of its bones. Its mane was a sad excuse for hair. The rider was even more gruesome. Unlike its horse the riders plate was fresh, no dents and a dark bluish purple. Across the plate were skulls and engraved runes they had a glow of all sorts of eerie colors and rippled with bone spikes upon his shoulders and up to a crest on his helm. The helm itself covered its owner's entire head, save for the slits left for eyes, nose and mouth, through which Athese could see, what looked like, living flesh but it was pale as the moon that hung over them. His eyes had the same red glow as the other undead, and a large two handed greatsword of ebony steel rested across his back. Recognizing a Death Knight was easy for Athese.

"Be that as it may, you are being taken into the custody of Breese Soulstride, Lord of Ymirheim." The Death Knight smiled as his skeletal warriors closed in around Athese and his troop.


	3. Chapter 3

Athese skeletal hands were bound behind his back. His ax and shield had been taken from him, as well as the weapons of his companions. Yjarim had been bound as well with a rough spun wool bag placed over his skull. Their captors led them through Ymirheim, around the giant central mountain that housed Ymirheim's coveted saronite mines. Many of the Vrykish houses had been burned to the ground; few had been untouched or rebuilt. Of living Vrykul there were few, some were working on the repairs of their village, others gripped barbaric looking weapons, eying the dead as their column snaked through their settlement. The majority of the populous of Ymirheim was now undead, huge skeletons that had belonged to the fallen Vrykul, other smaller ones of the ranks of the Scourge. Stone gargoyles perched on the hills and hovels; they looked completely still and lifeless save for the glow of their eyes that told Athese they were very well conscious.

As they marched, Athese looked for banners brandish the black field under the Ebon Blade, but he saw none. What he could see plenty of were white specters standing vigil on banners of sky blue. Athese' fear that they had been captured by the Knights of the Ebon Blade was weakened by this observation, but not completely disposed. The Death Knights who served the Lich King were mostly at Icecrown Citdel, and why one would call himself "Lord of Ymirheim" was beyond Athese. They were lead all the way around the mountain, on the opposite side a large citadel was under construction, still too small to be seen from outside the village are on the other side of the central mountain. In front of the keep was a large pit, with wooden stakes facing inward, and all around them were large wood and iron cages. Athese was placed in the nearest one with Regax, Samm, Thorhad and Hadthor. The rest of the troop was lead into respective cages, all save Yjarim.

Yjarim was taken before the pit. The Death Knight called Breese Soulstride rode up to him and dismounted, one of his undead lackeys took his ghastly steed to be tied up. The bag was removed from Yjarim's skull.

"So Lich" the Death Knight began, but was interrupted by a call from one of his minions.

"That is no Lich my lord."

Breese studied the undead mage before him. The shadows cast upon Yjarim's skull gave him a glaring look as he regarded the undead that had made the comment.

"Very well. Lichling, your warriors have been taken captive, and your hands are bound. I cannot say I know the true limits of your power, though my soldiers seem to think you are not as powerful as I would believe. That being said, I wish to have counsel with you within my keep, can I trust that you will make no attempt on my life with whatever magic's you wield?"

Yjarim stayed calm and collected, giving no sense of wavering nerves in his chilly echoed voice.

"I would gladly join you in your chambers if I am allowed a witness."

From under his saronite steel helm Breese made a face of contemplation.

"Your body guard's hand will be bound, but you are welcome to have one."

Yjarim called for Athese. He stepped to the front of his cage while an undead guard worked at the lock to open the door. As Athese stepped out he wondered what he was supposed to do if any danger befell them within the keep. Though he supposed being the captives that they were their existence was beyond their control regardless.

With their hands bound the two were led inside the maw of the citadel. Inside was dark and the saronite walls were dully illuminated by witchfire torches that burned all the way down the long hall they entered. A handful of paces in the sarotnite walls gave way to the blue rock of the mountain. They were taken up stairs to a large wooden door, reinforced with saronite and hinged in iron. The door swung open with a screech, pushed open by the undead minions that stood watch over the entrance. Inside there was a large a large circular table, surrounded by wooden chairs. The room was much brighter than the halls had been, tapestries brandishing the same specter as the banners outside lined the walls, and a fire crackled in a hearth on the left most side of the square room. The table was mostly uncovered and empty save for a few papers and maps that sat on the far side, where Breese took his seat in a high backed chair. His two captives were forcibly put in two smaller chairs on the opposite sides.

The Death Knight removed his horned helm. Underneath, his skin was pale as milk. His eyes were a pupil-less glow coming from his sockets. He kept a thin growth of hair black as night growing above his upper lip, and a small soul patch below the lower one. His skin clung tightly to his skull leaving his cheeks looking sucked in around his mouth. His forehead was lined and his brow stayed lowered almost constantly making him look as though he never stopped glaring. The hair from his brow extended well past the edges of his face, to his long pointed ears. Though his facial hair was black, his hair was a silvery grey and carelessly fell in a greasy heap to his shoulders. He was silent for a moment after sitting.

"We mean you no harm Lord Death Knight, why have you taken us captive?" Yjarim asked of their captor.

"I will be the one that asks the questions of you prisoner." The Death Knight replied with a snide smile.

"What brings you to my holdfast?" The Knight continued.

Athese decided he would stay silent as the two leaders had their conversation.

"We were seeking the counsel of the Vrykul, we hoped the living may have some answers to the recent… changes."

"Changes? What changes is it that you speak of?" The smile refused to leave Breese' face.

"The Voice, Lord. Commands were coming in less and less as the weeks past. I had noticed that my warriors were starting to feel the changes as we marched toward the Shadow Vault. It was on when we were on a glacier north of here when I noticed most of my company had been freed from control. Though they, as well as myself, still sense a… a presence."

Athese sense a sort of nervousness now in Yjarim, and the smile slowly faded from the Death Knight as his face became more serious.

"It seems you and your troops have not received word. The Lich King, Arthas Menethil is dead."

Athese felt as though he had been kicked in the head. _Dead? How? My liege lord… my King… how could this have happened?_ Athese couldn't say that he felt sad, but the damnable confusion was plenty. Frankly he was sick of it. He could see that Yjarim felt the same way.

"Dead! How?" The lichling asked.

"The Knights of the Ebon Blade and the Argent Crusade joined together, forming the Ashen Verdict. Joined by forces sent by the Horde and Alliance, they stormed Icecrown Citadel. Marrowgar, The Professor, Blood-Queen Lana'thel, even the King… we killed them all."

At that Yjarim stood to his feet, the two guards that had led him in put their claws on his shoulders but he refused to sit.

"WE!? How could that be? You stood with the living as the felled the Lords of the Citadel? You cut down your rightful king!?"

Surprisingly the Death Knight kept calm, and kept his seat, but his voice was cold and firm.

"I am a Death Knight of my own free will, and 'my rightful king' was losing his grip ever since Ner'zhul lost the Forsaken. Arthas was no better losing his Death Knights. I had no choice but to join the Knights of the Blade."

"We spent the entire war fighting you! Break our bones, shatter our bodies and be done with it then!" The lichling was out of patience for the traitor.

"Fool. If I indented to kill you I would have done so already, not waste my time taking your soldiers in to my custody. You see I no longer serve the Knights of the Ebon Blade."

At that Yjarim gave a look of bafflement, and sat back down. The confusion that now faced both him and Athese no longer came from the Changes.

"After the battle for Icecrown Citadel was done, the Ashen Verdict stayed to hold the keep, the Horde and the Alliance packed up taking most of their forces back home. The Ebon Blade returned to their home at the Shadow Vault, many back to Acherus, our necropolis. But with the Lich King dead many of the Death Knights felt that their service in the Ebon Blade was no longer needed, so they set off into the wilds of Northrend alongside any of Arthas' surviving Knights, me included."

"Then the Changes? The presence? What does it all mean?"

"There must always be a Lich King." Was Breese short response, he let that sit in the air for a moment.

"It was Tirion Fordring who laid the killing blow on Arthas Menethil. Some power brought the King's own ghostly father to Icecrown Spire. 'There must always be a Lich King.' He had said. With that it was Tirion who would take up the crown, but he was saved the burden… by an old friend."

"Bolvar Fordragon had been seared by the fires of the Red Dragon flight, giving him life… and death, Arthas had him imprisoned atop the spire. Tirion crowned him himself. It is Bolvar that now sits the Frozen Throne."

Athese and Yjarim both stayed silent, unsure of what to say. The smile came back to Breese Soulstrider.

"The Silent King they call him. The renegade dead all claim the same thing; no voice but they feel him there. Have no doubt he is in control but to what extent I cannot be sure." Yjarim finally found his voice.

"So what do we do? What need does the King have of us?"

"Nothing, clearly. But I will tell you this. Those Death Knights who stayed in Northrend are gathering all the dead that they can to their banners, the war against the living may be over but the war of the dead has just begun. Small pockets of Horde, Alliance, Ebon Blades, and Crusaders still hold out across the land, but it is all ripe for the taking. So I ask of you brothers. Will you join to serve under the Watchful Specter of Lord Soulstride?"

Athese did not wait for the lichling to respond, he had stayed quite for too long.

"You are a traitor and a deceiver. You took up arms against your rightful king and saw to his death, how could you expect any of the Scourge to follow you?"

For the first time Breese regarded Athese, their sight locked, but Athese refused to falter.

"You are not as resentful as I had expected, when the Forsaken we're released they immediately took up arms with Sylvanas Windrunner, to see to the Lich Kings demise."

Yjarim spoke up; his voice was cold as always, but slow, almost sad, perhaps defeated.

"The Forsaken resented what they had become, and blamed the Lich King. They all remembered the families they lost, the lives they once lived. The cloud of the King's rule has stripped that from me and all those I march with. As far as we are concerned we are Scourge and faithful to the king." For the first time Athese thought of life, he had never even considered the life he had once had, that any of them once had. What had he been when blood still flowed through his veins? Before his heart had rotten and fallen from his chest? No thoughts came to him to help.

"What we are now cannot change what we were. But think on this. When a king can no longer defend his people, he loses them. I did not help kill the King, I helped crown a new one, a better one, more rightful then Arthas had become."

"A silent one." Athese broke in.

"His silence allows your freedom! Have you been in servitude for so long that you forgot the joys of not having a voice bid your every move? Of course. I had to fight for my freedom! I had to push the voice from my head, deny it as the power of the Lich King shot pain through my every limb. You… you were released, you had to fight for nothing." Breese words were cold and harsh, and every one true. These past few days had been the first time his thoughts were his own; he had memories now, and conversation. He could acknowledge the fact that he understood words and command without a voice in his head commanding him. _The slaughter on the glacier, it had been so… good, the freedom._ Athese new the Death Knight was right, though at the moment Athese refused to admit to it.

"So then, what is it that you plan to do Death Knight?" Yjarim broke the silence with.

"I am calling all undead to my banner, hopefully I can even get some Death Knights to give up their own ambitions. My hold here in Icecrown is strategic, from here plan to take this whole frozen mountain. Northrend is torn apart by petty Death Knights all looking for their King's respect. I shall earn it and bring peace to this land… all in the name of Bolvar of course." Breese smiled wide now.

_All in the name of Bolvar,_ Athese thought to himself. War with his new free will would be interesting and he found himself yearning for a good fight. He leaned toward Yjarim.

"Let us join him, if the King stays silent what else are we to do? And if he denies his rule then we are there to fight for a just Lord." He whispered.

Yjarim leaned away.

"Your lordliness is kind to offer this to us, and I do believe the soldiers are ready for conquest. In the name of the Silent King we shall help you establish order, an undead needs his purpose."

"Agreed." Breese smiled. Athese and Yjarim were raised from their seats and the bindings on their hands removed.


End file.
